Mamma Mia! Season 12 Spec Fic
by graceylovesspn
Summary: Sam is captured by the British Men of Letters. Mary is back. Dean is overwhelmed. When Dean finds out Sam is missing, he, Cas and Mary go looking for him. Meanwhile Sam isn't having a great time with the MOLs. Will Dean save him in time? Based on promo pics, sneak peeks and the like. Speculation fic for Supernatural Season 12!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

She stood on the top step of the bunker, her arms straight out in front of her, her hand adorned a gun. The sound of the shot was unexpected, and Sam probably would have been able to read the determination in her eyes—the absolute will to shoot him if he wasn't half out of his mind with grief. The bullet was in his leg below his knee cap before he could even scream. Pain tore through him like wildfire and he fell onto the floor of the bunker.

"Gah!" He gripped his leg with his hands, the blood flowing out from below his knee. The bullet was still lodged in there—somewhere around his knee cap. He could almost feel it. The British woman—no _bitch_ Sam thought as he gritted his teeth against the pain walked down the steps and towards him, her strut as elegant and cocky as ever. If he didn't have a bullet in his damn leg he would have clocked her with a chair.

"If you'd like to come with me please," she said, in an almost calm voice. "This doesn't have to be any harder, if I only have your cooperation."

"I'm a bit compromised to walk anywhere, bitch," Sam spat. She cocked her head—Toni did she say her name was? And pushed a finger right into the wound on his leg. Fresh pain shot up him and Sam pushed her hand away. He didn't care what happened to him—god damn it hurt, but Dean was dead, gone into the empty. Cas was booted to god knows where because of that sigil. Sam was all alone.

 _Maybe I'll get lucky,_ he thought. _Maybe she'll shoot the next bullet right in the heart._

He knew if Dean knew what he was thinking he would have a few choice words with him. Before his chest got chalked-full of fifty-hundred thousand souls and he was blasted into oblivion, they had had a talk. Driving to the cemetery in the Impala, the car was filled with a dreading silence. Of what was to come. They had been through this many times before. One brother sacrificing himself for the greater good—because of a mess they had started. The other brother brooding and promising to move on and have a life, but trying to figure out ways to save his sibling. But this time something was different. Billie had explained the Empty, there was no coming back from that. It wasn't hell or purgatory—thank god, but it wasn't heaven either. You didn't go on. You just stopped going. You didn't exist anymore. Sam couldn't bring Dean back from nothing, but as he looked out the window he bit his lip, it didn't mean he wasn't going to damn well try. Dean must have sensed his silent determination. His hands clenched in fists. And his head hurting because he didn't know how to save Dean this time. And why the hell did it have to be Dean?

"I don't mind, you know. Not being here anymore," Dean had said suddenly, to break the silence. "It's okay Sammy, really. And stop the damn smoke coming out of your ears. You can't save me from this one, bro."  
"I know," Sam said, lowering his eyes to his lap. He couldn't look his big brother in the face—couldn't lie to him.

"No Sam. I mean it. Look at me."

And Sam did, because Sam always does what Dean says. He always will. Dean took his eyes off the road and focused on his brother. He ignored the stoop of his shoulders, the tears filling his eyes.

"I know you aren't okay with this, Sam. If I were you, I wouldn't be either. But I am okay with this. So, you gotta respect that."

Sam nodded and looked down again. Dean shifted his eyes back to the road.

"You know, you can get a life now. Get a girl, get a dog."

Sam smiled at that last remark. But he didn't want any other life, not without Dean.

"I'm serious Sammy. And I'm not saying this as my last will and testament or any of that crap. I'm not saying to even make me a promise, cause we both know that doesn't work. But I'd like—I'd like to imagine you livin' a normal apple pie life. You always said you were gonna retire one day. Well hell if we haven't done our share, ya know?"

"I'll try, Dean. Really."

But now, shot in the leg, Toni or whatever-her-bitch-face was, as she wrapped it with a strip of cloth and cuffed his arms behind his back, now, Sam didn't want to try. It was too much effort. He wanted to die.

"I don't want to kill you Sam," Toni said, as he flinched when she came close to his face. "Just keep you quiet for the road trip ahead," and she pulled out a gag and tied it tight around his mouth. "We need you alive and well, we know you have lots of information about the men of letters, being legacies and all. And we intend to get it out of you."

She pulled out a needle, filled with a clear liquid. Sam tried protesting through his gag, but it didn't matter, she ignored him anyways. She jabbed it into his arm, and slowly the world around him became liquid and his vision ran together in a black flood.

Sam wanted to die. But he didn't think it would be that easy.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPSNSPN

Dean stood in a park, the cool night breeze blowing against his jacket. He was dead, he was sure of it. Because it couldn't be real—could it?

"Mom?" he asked slowly, stepping forward, boot crunching on the grass.

His mom took a step back, her hands up. Her face was contorted in confusion.

Dean took another step closer to—his mother, god he couldn't believe it, a hand out, reaching to her. His chest suddenly lit with a fire, a yearning for her. Something he hadn't felt in 33 years. In one quick motion his mom came forward, lunging at him. He was on the ground on his back, her foot on his neck.

"Who are you?" she asked, fear laced into her words. Her nightgown billowed out behind her. Even here, underneath his Mom's foot Dean saw that she was beautiful. Her green eyes pierced his own.

"Mom, its me. It's Dean."

Mary's foot slowly slid off his neck, but Dean stayed down. "No," she said. "It can't be, because Dean is four. Dean is my baby."

"Mom—what do you remember?"

"A fire," his mother said. Dean slowly inched his way onto his knees. He leaned back on his haunches. Mary's eyes calmed a bit, her fists unclenched. She took a second look at the man in front of her—her son. Could it be? His eyes, there was no denying.

"How do I know it's you?" she asked.

Dean took a breath, tried to remember his mother. "I was named after Deanna, your grandmother. My little brother's name is Sam Winchester. 'cept he's not so little anymore." Dean cracked a small smile at the amusement in Mary's expression, but she still look unsure, so Dean continued.

"Our Dad is John Winchester. Your maiden name is Campbell. You used to be a hunter. Made a deal with a demon called Azazel. The yellow-eyed demon. That's how you died. November 2nd, 1983. He came into Sam's nursery, burned you on the ceiling."

Mary's eyes went dark. She looked down at her nightgown and clenched it in her fists.

"That's impossible, I was just there. In 1983. My god. I died? What year is it?"

"2016, Mom. I'm 37."

Mary shook her head. "No," she said. "It can't be. I've been in heaven all this time? Wouldn't I have remembered—remembered you? Looked out for you, down on you?"

Dean slowly made his way to his feet. His heart clenched at the grief in his mom's voice. She looked right at him, tears in her eyes.

"You probably did, Mom. I'm guessing Amara was the one who brought you back. She said she would give me the thing I needed most—," Dean trailed off and smiled softly. The thing he needed the most. His mom. I guess he always knew, subconsciously.

"But Mom," he continued. "Sam and I have been to heaven plenty of times, and we don't always remember when we come back."

Mary stopped searching Dean's face. Her figure froze. "Heaven? My boys have been to heaven."

 _Shit._ Dean thought. He remembered travelling back in time and meeting young Mary. _The worst thing I can think of his having my children raised as hunters._

"It—it doesn't matter," he stuttered. "It's a long story."

Mary shook her head, and pushed back her panic. She took a breath and took a step towards Dean, placed a hand on his shoulder. Dean breathed out a breath he had been holding. His heart expanded and he couldn't help but feel a tear or two fill his eyes. He blinked them away, put a hand on Mary's.

"It's really you? My son." She sounded so proud.

Dean nodded, eyes burning.

"Dean."

Mary pulled him into a hug, and Dean collapsed into her. He let go like he never had in 37 years of life. He felt—taken care of. For the first time in—well, in forever, he guessed. Mary's arms hugged this man—her son and she smiled to herself, tears coming through her own eyes as well. They stayed like that, bodies pressed together, trying to close all distance, time and space that had separated them for so long.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Cas hurt. A lot. He opened his eyes, his body aching. He had never felt great with Lucifer in him, but he hadn't felt this kind of low since he had lost his grace and become a human. What the hell kind of sigil was that? He tried to recall what had happened.

Dean had gone to save the world. Sam and him had driven back to the bunker in silence, he had offered his support. Sam had barely replied. They had come down the stairs, and then there was a flash of blonde hair—a smug smile and then a bright light. The last thing Cas had seen was Sam's panicked face. That lady had blasted him to god knows where. He looked around him. He was in some kind of crater in the middle of the forest. He tried to sense where he was—but he couldn't. He was still low on mojo since Lucifer had left him—or maybe his body just hurt—a lot. He had never seen those kinds of markings for a sigil before. The lady, whatever her name was must have known her sigils, must have known how to blast an angel to god knows where. And how did she get into the bunker? With all the protection. She must have been human. And she seemed to know who Sam was—that there would be angel with him. How much did this lady know about the Winchesters, the men of letters bunker?

Castiel pulled himself up and dusted off his trench-coat, grunting and coughing in the dust of the crater. He didn't know who the lady was, he had to get back to Sam—to protect him. He had promised Dean. And a promise to Dean was one he planned on keeping.

 **So it's a week before Season 12 of Supernatural and I cannot contain my excitement! This fic is based of spoilers we have gotten, as well as my own imagination. I will try to finish it before Oct. 13** **th** **so all my theories are not debunked right away. Anywho, what do y'all think will happen this season?**

 **Gracey xx**


	2. Chapter Two

Sam woke up in a minivan. He instantly felt the tied bonds of cloth around his hands, which were stretched behind his back. His gag was still in his mouth, wound tightly around his head. His legs were bent and tied at the ankles and a strip of cloth was pressed tightly over the gunshot wound in his leg. He winced, there was a deep pain in there, and he knew that the bullet was still lodged somewhere around his knee cap. He tried to see if he would make any noise, working sounds from his throat and out of his mouth around his gag—but he couldn't. He tried to sit up, this goddamn car was too small—but the strength in his body was weak…still waking up from whatever they had drugged him with.

The back of the van opened, and the women…blonde hair pulled tightly back in a ponytail, suit hugging her skinny figure is standing beside the car, a smug smile on her face. From what Sam can gather before they slip a blindfold onto his face around his eyes they are in a regular neighbourhood, a white picket fence house. Not some place that Sam would think would the the base for the British chapter of the Men of Letters. He had figured that much before he blacked out from the drugs. There was no other person or group of people that could find the bunker and blow Cas to tim buc two with a sigil. And she was British. He thought he would be taken to—well, Britain. But as far as he knew, he was still very much in America, considering they had pulled into the house from the right side of the road. A man, tall and black with a bald head and beady eyes appeared before Sam, just as the blindfold covered his eyes. He heard Toni's voice, and the man's talking.

"Where is the other?"

"He says dead."

"I won't believe it till I see it."

"I assure you, it was just him and the angel."

"And you took care of the angel?"

"He won't be bothering us anytime soon, trust me."  
Sam cringed at the thought of Cas hurt and in trouble, because of the damage that Dean and him had ultimately caused. He knew that Cas wanted to help, but Sam just wanted him to go away, for good, so he couldn't get hurt anymore. So no one had to die anymore, because of him.

Sam felt rough hands grab him, another set of male hands in addition to the first male he had seen. They pulled him out of the van. He tried to struggle, for a second at least. He didn't know why, but stopped after he was shaken pretty bad, got a punch to the stomach. He didn't have anyone or anything to go back to. Anyway, what was the worst that they could do?

Sam complied and stayed still as they dragged him into the house.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean was shaking. He gripped the steering wheel of his car—the Impala, which conveniently was around the corner from the park. He had gotten his Mom a jacket, which she had accepted gratefully, and had eased into the front seat. There was a small silence that filled the car, and each time Dean looked over at his mom he had to blink a few times just to make sure she was real, to make sure she wasn't a hallucination. He hadn't said anything too much; he didn't want o to freak Mary out. They mainly made small talk. Mary was starting to remember something from heaven, she said it resembled the house in Kansas, singing Hey Jude to Sam, watching Dean and John play catch in the backyard. Dean had given her a small explanations on where they lived—the men of letters bunker. Her sons were legacies? Dean had smiled a little, jerked his head back at his mom. She seemed-proud of him. It was a strange feeling. He was beginning to understand that it didn't know how to be a child, an adult child at that. But he thought that Mary didn't know how to be a Mom either. Hell, Sam had never even had a Mom. They would all figure it out-together. Dean explained they were almost at the bunker, where Sam would be. He didn't want to say that Sam would be as equally surprised to see him as well, but, well, he did say that Sam may be shocked. Mary could tell her oldest was holding something back-something vital, something he didn't want to tell her, and she held off from questioning him for too long. But, as the silence grew weary and filled with tension, as the night wore on and the Impala are of the eighty or so miles it still was to the bunker, Mary had to ask.

"Are you hunters?"

Dean's sharp intake of air. The quick side glance he gave his mom. The fear in his eyes. He didn't need to say anything, Mary already knew. But she still felt the world falling when Dean bit his lip, and replied.

"Yes."

Mary's world split open. Her worst fear realized. Regret and guilt pounded on her heart. She let a tear slide down her cheek.

SPNSPNSNSPN

Sam was tied to a chair. His ankles were cuffed to the front legs of a chair and his hands had been pulled behind his back, attached with handcuffs and chained to the back of the chair. Toni sat in front of him, a black book in her lap, a lets-get-down-to-business look on her face. Sam bit his lip. They were in a cellar, the doors to the outside were shutters on the outsides and small slits of sunlight streamed in and framed Toni's face. Her eyes were shining. There was a table to Toni's right, on it were an assortment of instruments. Sam grimaced when the realization came to him. They meant to torture him. Well, they could hurt him all they liked, it would be nothing compared to the dull and yet still fresh ache that he felt for the loss of his brother. Besides he thought smugly to himself, he had survived over 200 years in hell in the cage, with Lucifer. What could an accent in a pantsuit do to him? And that's exactly what he asked her. He didn't see the lady in black behind him. He didn't hear the hiss of the cattle prong until it was burning his feet. It took him by surprise, he wasn't expecting it. He let out a small cry, but clamped his mouth shut. He would not give them the satisfaction of pain. He had enough on the inside. He swallowed the rest of the cry into the gaping mound of hurt sitting inside of his stomach.

"Bring it on bitch," he said out loud. She tazed him again.

"Oh," Toni smiled, "we will."

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean walked into the bunker, his mother on his heels. The rest of the car ride had been a hasty retelling of what had happened after Mary's death. Dean didn't go past Sam leaving for Stanford, and he really didn't want to because what he had already told Mary had earned him a flood of tears and several soft hands on his shoulder and murmured 'sorry's, so much that it almost drove him crazy. Dean did say, lightly, that John was no longer around, that he had died. He didn't give the circumstances of his death, as that would lead to the subject of demon deals and ultimately, Dean and Sam's separate trips to hell. He didn't think Mary could be able to handle that yet, if ever.

He just wanted her safe, in the bunker, drinking hot tea with Sam on one side of him and Mary on the other. He just wanted them to talk. Not about their miserable lives but about each other. He wanted to know his mother's favourite bands, hell, her favourite colors. He wanted to tell her about Lisa, maybe how he wished he could have told her he was in love. He wanted to share, to talk, to reminisce. He wanted to hear about his birth, about Sam's, funny stories from their childhood. He wanted to soak his mother up in her beauty. He wanted to know her personality. He wanted to know about his father before hunting had wrecked his life. He wanted the confirmation at at one point he had been different, that at one point he had been happy. He wanted Sam to be able to not only feel the relief of Dean being alive, but also he wanted to see Sam's shocked face, he wanted to hear his words of disbelief. He wanted to hear his kid brother say, "Mom?" and he wanted her to say, "It's really me Sam, it's really me."

And that's what he was thinking all the while he was calling Sam. He told Mary to have a seat at the table, she looked a little unsteady on her feet. He was going to get her a change of clothes, find Sam and Cas. He wanted to hug his brother too. But he started to panic after searching the bunker twice, and calling out Sam's name frantically. He knew Sam would come at the sound of Dean's voice, and quick. Cas wasn't here either. Maybe him and Sam had gone somewhere else, but where? It hadn't been hardly three hours since Dean had apparently died. He didn't think Sam would drown his misery in a whiskey bottle at some bar, or hide his pain in the pleasure of a one-night stand. That's what Dean would do, Dean had done. He pulled out his phone and started to dial Sam's number, but his thumb froze in the air when he heard his mother's voice echo throughout the bunker.

"Freeze! Hands in the air, down on your knees!"

Shit, Dean thought. Shitshitshit. And he was off running.

SPNSPNSPSNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Cas tried for the final time to pull himself out of the crater. He finally did, hauling himself up with both hands and pulling his body weight out of the gigantic hole in the ground. He was met with the stunned expression of a guy, mid-thirties, a cap on backwards, on foot outside of his truck.

Well, there was no time for pleasantries. "How far am I from Lebanon, Kansas?" he asked. The guy stared at him, mouth gaped.

"Only a couple miles," he said finally, in a deep gravely voice. "Dude, you okay?"

"I'm fine," Cas said, shrugging off the question. "But my friend may not be. May I request a drive in your car?"

"Sure," the man said, stilled stunned. He stepped back into his truck and Cas stepped in the passenger side. They shared a quick glance. Cas dusted off his trench coat and steeled himself for the mission ahead. He told the guy the address of the bunker.

"Step on it," he said.


End file.
